


By Your Side

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: In A Better World [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arya Is Good At Killing People, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff, Help, Hurt/Comfort, I Am So Much Deeper Into All This Than I Ever Planned To Be, They love each other so much, War, it hurts me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: The end of the world was coming, and Arya was trying to die without him.(Set after 7X07)





	1. Chapter 1

The end of the world was coming, and there was no place Gendry would rather be.

Not that he and Arya got to spend much time together. She was training the smallfolk who had taken refuge in the castle basic combat techniques, the kind of thing that might keep them alive a little bit longer when the White Walkers came. He was busy working with anyone who had crafting skills, guiding them through making as many knives as possible out of the emergency dragon glass that had been brought over. Neither of them spent much time in the war councils, but they knew enough people to get the grim news second-hand - the White Walkers were marching, and they'd be here sooner than any of them would like.

But Arya would train in the courtyard so they could see each other while they worked, and sometimes they'd meet each other's eyes with a wry look or little almost-smile that felt like a conversation without words. She'd come over whenever she had a spare moment, and no matter how crowded the space got everyone knew that a spot near him had to be kept empty in case Arya wanted to sit. People sometimes asked him to pass on messages to her, because he was the only person other than her siblings who could interrupt her without receiving a glare he'd heard described as "colder than any winter."

Personally, Gendry couldn't see it.

In the evening, they took refuge together in her room. Nothing _happened_ , no matter what people thought – they slept fully clothed, as did most people in Winterfell these days, and they'd shared less space between them back when they were prisoners at Harrenhal. It was a gift of shared private space, from her to him, and he respected and honored the gift as it deserved.

(If she did ever want to touch him that way, he'd consider himself blessed and give her whatever she wanted. But he'd smash his hand flat before a word crossed his lips suggesting that what she already gave _him_ somehow wasn't enough. It was everything.)

That night, she snuck into the room with a bit of meat folded into a cloth. "The privileges of nobility," she said wryly, dividing the meat between them. "If I were you, I wouldn't ask what it is."

Gendry shot her his best "you've got to be kidding me" look. "Look at you being all uppity. Rat's a _treat_ if you know how to cook it right."

Arya's lips curved upward a little, just as he'd intended. "You'll have to cook some for me sometime." Her expression turned impish for just a moment. "Maybe we should invite Sansa."

He couldn't stop the chuckle that slipped out. "And have her light me on fire with her eyes after you tell her what it is? I don't think so."

Arya's smile widened. "It still baffles me that you're more unnerved by _Sansa_ than you are me."

Gendry made a dismissive noise as he took a bite of the meat. "I don't care what anyone says. You're not scary." The faces thing was a little unnerving, true, but mostly because he didn't like magic. _Arya_ didn't scare him.

Her expression faltered, the humor slipping off it. “I am, though,” she said quietly. “It’s the task I was shaped for.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, wishing more and more that he’d been there to talk Arya into staying the hell away from Jaqen. “You’re not a _weapon_.”

“Yes, I am.” She took a deep breath, something that looked almost like fear flashing across her face before she shut it down completely. “Gendry, I need to talk to you about something.”

Gendry went still, knowing that whatever she was about to say was going to be _bad_. He braced himself, stomach turning into a lead weight. "Tell me."

Arya held herself just as still, staring at something beyond the stone wall in front of her. “The best use for me isn’t among the fighters. I can fight, but the techniques I use are more effective against a small group of skilled fighters than it is against hordes of wights. If nothing else, Needle is too light to do the kind of damage against them it needs to.”

If it had been anyone else, Gendry might have let himself believe for a second that she was trying to apologize for the fact that she wasn’t going to take part in the battle. With Arya, however, all that meant was that she was going to be doing something even _more_ dangerous. “Then we find you a bigger sword.”

She still wouldn’t look at him, voice almost completely without inflection. But he could see her swallow. “It’s still not the best use of my talents.”

For a few blissful seconds, he still wasn’t sure what she meant. When it finally clicked, everything inside him went as cold as the snow outside. “ _No_.”

Arya flinched a little, like she’d been hit. “You know I’m right, Gendry.”

No, he damn well _didn’t_. “So what are you going to do, hitch a ride on one of the dragons and go assassinate the Night King? You can’t even take a White Walker’s face – they dissolve into snow when you kill them.”

Finally, she turned to look at him, stubbornness radiating out of every line of her body. “Wights leave faces behind. As long as I can get my hands on one that hasn’t decomposed too badly, and make sure I don’t get bit while I take the face, the magic should still work.”

Should. She was planning to drop herself in the middle of a magical army with no armor and only a dagger for protection on nothing more than a _should_. “Well, maybe I’ll pray it doesn’t! Wights aren’t exactly the Many-Faced God’s business.”

“They’re _dead_.” Arya lifted her chin. “Wights belong to the Many-Faced God _more_ than they do any of the others.”

Gendry wanted to break something. He’d been prepared to die next to her on the battlefield, whether it was out at the front lines or here at Winterfell, but the idea of her going off to do it someplace he couldn’t follow was unbearable. He’d only just gotten her _back_.

Worse, he’d only just started to understand the full depth of what he’d let go of in the first place. “You still can’t get to him,” he argued, desperate now. “Every report we’ve heard says that the Night King is on the back of the dragon he stole. Even if you could take a wight’s face, it’s not going to do you any good up there. He’ll know you’re not a real one.”

She leaned forward, one hand on his leg. “I won’t try for the Night King unless an opportunity happens.” Her tone had changed, almost as if she was trying to reassure him. “But my dagger is made of Valyrian steel, which takes Walkers out even more quickly than dragonglass. With my own face I won’t be able to get close enough to use it, but if they don’t see me coming I can make a dent in their forces.”

He could almost see it, dancing in front of his vision like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He’d seen her move, and deep in his gut he knew that if she could make it all work she’d hit the White Walkers hard.

But she’d still be dead. “What about our men? They won’t know about the mask thing – they’ll just assume you’re another wight they need to burn or smash.”

“I’ll avoid them, too.” Her tone made it clear she’d already considered the possibility before he had, but it didn’t seem to worry her in the slightest. “I’m good at not being seen.”

His stomach twisted. “You have it all planned out, don’t you?” He pulled away from her touch, getting up off the bed and moving to stand next to the wall. “Why even bother telling me at all?”

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw the first flash of actual anger from her. “As if I’d let you hear this from someone else,” she said sharply. “As if I’d even _risk_ it.”

Pushing away the stab of guilt, Gendry scrubbed his hands across his face. “Has your brother and sister approved of this?”

She hesitated briefly at that, then squared her shoulders. “I’m telling them tomorrow. I don’t want the whole war council to know what I can do. Just the people who are absolutely essential.”

“I’m going to be there,” he warned her, watching her face. He didn’t know what good it would do, but he was going to be there for every second he possibly could.

“Of course.” Her entire demeanor suggested she’d planned to have him be there all along. “Whatever I know, you know.”

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, everything inside him hurting. “Then tell me why you have to do this,” he said fiercely. “And don’t give me that line about being a weapon. Even if you believe it, I never will.”

She stared at him, expression open and fragile in a way she so rarely let it be, then scooted closer. “I don’t regret anyone I’ve killed,” she said quietly, laying her hand on his leg again. “I’ll do it again. But I don’t get to _save_ people very often.” She met his eyes, silently asking him for understanding. “Every White Walker I kill will be more people who survive this war. I need to kill as many of them as I can.”

Heart breaking, Gendry pulled her into a tight hug. “I hate everything about this,” he managed, feeling like a direwolf had used his throat as a scratching post.

Arya pressed her cheek against his hair. “I know,” she breathed, curling her fingers in his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes. It was his fault, really, for falling in love with a warrior. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Arya kept the list of people she told her plan to as small as possible - Sansa, Jon and his Dragon Queen. She might not have chosen to add Daenerys to the list, but she'd realized by now that whatever Jon knew she would eventually know.

She'd decided a demonstration was the simplest way to explain, much as she had when she told Sansa about the masks. Everyone was silent as she pulled the man's face away from her own, tucking it into her pocket as she looked just to the right of her brother's face. He was staring at her wide-eyed, something wounded deep in their depths, and she swallowed as she felt something too close to fear squeeze at her chest. If she could have, she thought now that she would have kept this part of herself from him forever.

As if she'd called him, she felt Gendry move up more closely behind her. It was only a few steps, not close enough to touch, but somehow it was enough to let her get enough air into her lungs to continue. "I can't take a White Walker's face because of the way they die, but I'm almost certain that I can take a wight's face if you give me access to one." She kept her voice as emotionless as possible, hands holding each other tightly behind her back. "In the form of a wight, I can get close enough to the Walkers for my Valyrian dagger to do real damage."

She could see the denial form on Jon's face even as Sansa leaned forward. Her expression was tense, clearly as unhappy with the plan as Jon and Gendry were, but Arya appreciated that her protest was briskly practical. "Your dagger is too well-cared for to be a wight weapon. They'll catch you no matter whose face you wear."

She'd thought about that, too. "I'll have to make sure my rags include enough layers to hide it," she said calmly, still not looking directly at Jon. "It will also serve the practical purpose of keeping me warmer."

Sansa's jaw tightened, but she didn't say anything. Instead, Daenerys leaned forward. "If we got you the wight you need," she asked, radiating a sudden intensity, "do you think you could kill the Night King?"

Arya studied the Dragon Queen's face, recognizing the all-too-familiar need for vengeance. It deserved as honest an answer as she had to give. "If he stays on dragonback, no. But if you can get him on the ground, I'll make him my primary target."

Daenerys nodded, looking thoughtful, and somehow that was enough to make Jon find his voice. "Absolutely _not_. I wouldn't send _any_ one person after the Night King, let alone—"

"She can do it." Sansa cut him off, enough pain in her voice that Arya felt it in her own chest. It was her sister's faith in her, however, that made her throat tighten. "If anyone can get to him, she can." She turned to Jon. "If you're going out to face them, she has every right to."

He looked like he'd been stabbed as he turned back to Arya. "You don't have to do this."

She wanted to comfort him, as much as she'd wanted to comfort Gendry. But there was none of that to be had here. "I could tell you the same thing."

He closed his eyes at that, and when he opened them again it seemed like he'd aged a year. When he spoke, though, it was with the voice of a commander. "We need to make sure our own forces don't come after you. We'll get you an escort—"

Arya drew in a breath to argue when Gendry cut him off from behind her. "I'll take her through," he said, tone leaving no room for argument. "Stick close enough to their line to see her coming, make sure she has an exit point for the way back."

Seeing the way Jon and Sansa's expressions had eased a fraction, Arya bit back the protest that had nearly burst out of her. Not that Gendry would be spared hearing it – oh _no_ – but right now it wouldn't help.

The Dragon Queen nodded, studying Arya as if she'd never seen her before. The two of them hadn't spent much time together, since her arrival at Winterfell, but in this Arya thought they probably understood each other well. "We will get you your wight," she said quietly. "Keep us informed."

Arya nodded, then met Jon and Sansa's eyes just long enough for a silent moment of apology and understanding.

Then she left, Gendry just behind her.

000

When they got back to the room, Arya shut the door tightly behind them both as she tried to find the words she needed. “Gendry—”

“Don’t.” His voice was as immovable as it had been earlier, and when she turned she could see that he was braced for a fight. “Every single argument you could use for doing this applies to me, too. If you’re going out there, then so am I.”

He was right. But she wasn’t going to be out there watching his back anymore, which made it that much more important that he protect himself. “I know you’ll be out there, but you can’t be focused on me. You need to pay attention to the enemies around you, not on whether one wight out of a thousand is going to suddenly need your help.”

“You think I’m not going to be distracted?” he shot back, angry. “If you’re out there playing wight, that’s pretty damn unavoidable.”

Worry twisted inside her. “It won’t matter if you’re distracted in the castle. There are enough—“

She realized her mistake when she saw his face change. “Seriously?” He stepped toward her, furious. “You’re going to try and assassinate the _Night King_ wearing a _dead person’s face_ , and you think I’m going to be sitting back here at the castle defending the battlements? Should I start wearing a dress? Darning socks?”

She hadn’t meant to say that – except she had, because Davos was staying at the castle and she trusted him to watch Gendry’s back – so she flung back the first comment she could think of as a distraction. “I dare you to say that in front of Sansa.”

Something almost like hurt rose up in the middle of the anger, and she realized belatedly that it sounded too much like she was referencing their old joke at the worst possible time. She’d be willing to apologize for that, but before she could his jaw set. “They’re on _my_ side, and you know it. If you didn’t, we’d have had this argument in front of them instead of here.”

“Fine,” she shot back, trying to regroup. The wisest thing to do would be to stop the argument completely, particularly since he was right, but she and wisdom had stopped keeping company as far as Gendry was concerned. “But you still shouldn’t be waiting for me! You should be with the rest of the men, focused on staying alive.”

“What will it matter?” Gendry threw his hands in the air. “If you don’t come back from this, you won’t have any idea what happened to me!”

Denial shot through her, hot and fierce. If she had to become a wandering ghost, she would still manage to find him again. “It matters!” She moved toward him, wanting to shake some sense into him. How could he not see how important this was? “You need to survive this, even if I don’t, so you can go have a life!”

His expression went raw, as if she’d cracked something inside him. “I don’t _want_ a life if it’s not with you!” His voice cracked, the words as rough as if someone had scraped a knife across the inside of his throat. “So stop trying to die without me!”

The words jerked Arya to a halt, tangling themselves deep in her heart. It had been years since she’d bothered picturing a life for herself that existed beyond vengeance or protection, and she’d never had the slightest interest in the husband and children her father had kept trying to paint into her future. It just... hadn’t seemed important.

But oh, she could see it now. Teasing each other through the ridiculously long marriage ceremony, only to become absurdly emotional during certain moments when it hit them that they meant every word they were saying. Stumbling through parenthood together, relying on each other because neither of them had anyone left who could offer guidance. Gendry would make a wonderful father, smart enough to not try to keep a sword out of their daughter’s hands. They’d be partners in every single aspect of their lives, so attached to one another that they’d be an embarrassment to everyone around them. They would grow old together, complaining about their aches and pains and ridiculous children, eventually dying in bed wrapped up in one another’s arms.

But they weren’t going to get that.

Grief clogged her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. But Gendry must have seen enough of it on her face, because his expression suddenly gentled. “Listen, I know there’s only so far I can be with you in this. I promise you I won’t get in your way, and I won’t draw attention to you.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, voice still rough. “But you have to let me do everything in my power to make sure you get home again.”

Arya needed words, badly, but nothing was coming. The White Walkers were on their way, dragging death and war in their wake, and there was too much of a risk that she would die without ever telling him everything that was in her heart. How grateful she was that she’d had him as long as she did, and how heartbroken she was that it wouldn’t be longer.

So she fisted her hands in the front of his shirt, dragged him down, and kissed him.

Gendry was frozen for a moment, resisting being pulled, but the moment their lips met he melted against her like the spring thaw. It felt like she was falling, or flying, held to the earth only by the way his hands gently held her face. She pulled him that much closer, heart caught in her throat as it was trying to leap out of her chest.

When they broke apart, Gendry leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t make me be here without you,” he breathed, eyes wet.

She closed her eyes, wishing for so many things she knew she shouldn’t. Then, loving him so much it hurt, she pulled him down for another kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the best thing that ever happened to him, and it made everything else hurt that much worse.

But oh, Gendry would take it and be grateful for the chance to bleed. He kissed Arya back just as desperately as she kissed him, wanting to drown himself so deeply in the feel of her that it imprinted on his soul. She held him like she was afraid he'd disappear if she let go, like losing him was the worst thing she could think of, and as he pulled her even closer the last remnants of the lost feeling he'd had ever since he could remember slipped away completely. He'd been made to be here, now, with her. This was what it had all been leading up to.

When they broke apart, needing to get some air back into their lungs, Arya looked up at him with eyes that burned like dragonfire even though they were wet with tears. “Marry me.”

Gendry’s heart stopped, certain he hadn’t heard right. “What?”

Arya’s hands moved around to cradle his face, holding onto him like he was something precious. Her voice was as certain as he’d ever heard it. “If we make it out of this, I want you to marry me.” 

He stared down at her, not sure whether his heart was bursting or breaking. “I don’t...” His voice cracked, and he had to swallow before he could try again. “I don’t think your brother and sister would approve.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” she said fiercely. “I’ll make them understand, and if they don’t then we’ll go somewhere else.” Then she swallowed, an equal mixture of longing and grief in her eyes. “What matters is that I’ll be with you in every way I possibly can be.”

It was as much a dream as anything he'd ever imagined for himself, a thousand times more beautiful and just as impossible. Not that he doubted her - she'd take on the world for what she'd wanted - but they'd never make it that far. In her eyes, he could see that she knew that, too.

But they could dream, at least. Nothing could take that from them.

Gendry finally made himself inhale, realizing only then that he was shaking a little. "Yes," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. "With everything in me, yes."

Arya's breath hitched, and she surged upward into another kiss. He gave himself up to it, ready to live an entire lifetime in the days they had left.

000

For that night and the next, it was like the world held its breath. Their days were still filled with work they couldn't ignore, but their nights were spent in each other's arms. Neither of their lives had given them much experience with that kind of tenderness, but for a few precious hours they were able to learn together.

On the third day, they brought Arya her wights. The Hound had three of them chained to a tree outside the castle walls, and as they approached he glared at Arya like she'd forced him to carry her shopping. "What damnfool idea have you gotten into your head this time?"

"Nothing of your business." Arya's tone was easy, without offense, and Gendry decided for the hundredth time that he would never understand their relationship.

The Hound's scowl deepened, clearly unhappy with her answer, and he jerked his head in Gendry's direction. "This one knows, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," she said absently, getting way the hell closer to the wights to study them than Gendry was at all comfortable with. He moved closer, ready to yank her out of the way if she got too distracted.

When he glanced back at the Hound, it was clear the other man had understood the reason behind the movement. "You gonna be watching her back while she follows through on whatever idiocy this is?" he growled.

Gendry had learned enough by now to simply meet the glare head-on. "Longer than she wants me to."

The Hound nodded, as if satisfied by the answer, just as Arya turned back to look at him. "This one," she said, pointing to a short, stocky wight who'd clearly had some money before death took him. He'd clearly been turned soon after he died, the congealed mass of his hair the only obvious wound. "But don't burn the others yet - I'll need them as a test."

Of course she would. Gendry sighed, lifting his eyes heavenward, and the Hound smirked at him in an expression that looked almost sympathetic before lifting his sword and hacking off the wight's head in two great swipes. As it dropped into the snow, still trying to snap and bite, the Hound gave Arya a measured look. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Arya picked up the head, stuffing a rag in its mouth before dropping it into the bag. Only then did she meet the Hound’s eyes with a surprisingly understanding expression. "As well as you do."

The Hound snorted, then his expression turned serious. They had a brief, silent conversation Gendry could only read Arya's half of, then he nodded at her. She nodded back, both of them completely ignoring the wights still straining to kill them, then gestured to Gendry that they were done. As they left, Gendry could see the Hound lighting a torch.

When they were far enough away to be out of immediate earshot, Arya glanced up at him. "I saw that look, but it's important I test the face out on other wights. They might be able to sense things we don't."

"I get that," he said quietly. "But just because I understand why you do stupidly dangerous things doesn't mean you're ever going to get me to like it."

She let out a breath. "But I get a pass on regularly dangerous things?"

It was enough like their usual teasing he could let himself pretend for a few seconds. "I'll tell you when I see something I think applies."

Her lips ghosted upward. "You have no sense of adventure." Then her expression sobered. "I need to be alone when I take the face."

It stung a little, but Gendry told himself not to be an ass about it. "Mystical stuff. I understand."

Arya shook her head. "It's not that." She tried hard to keep her voice as emotionless as possible. "I just don't want you to see me like that."

He watched her face, all locked doors and sealed windows, and wondered why so few people seemed to see everything that slipped out underneath the edges. "I keep telling you," he said quietly. "You don't scare me."

She glanced over at him, something sad flickering across her face. "I believe you," she said quietly. "But I still don't want certain pictures in your head."

Knowing there was no time for a real conversation - for all they knew, the wight head would work free of its gag and start eating its way out of the bag - he just squeezed her free hand. "Fair enough."

She left him in the corridor with a quick, soft kiss, slipping into the room she'd commandeered. Gendry, not knowing what else to do, went outside to work on more dragonglass knives.

That was where Davos found him. "Don't suppose you can tell me what's happening with Arya," the older man said quietly.

Gendry kept his eyes on the crude leather grip he was wrapping around the knife hilt. "What makes you think something's happening with Arya?"

"You, Jon and Sansa all look like someone took a knife to your guts." Davos's voice was both matter-of-fact and kind. "Not a lot the three of you have in common."

Gendry let out a breath, looking up at him. "She's got a plan." He sounded more exhausted than he'd meant to. "If she can work a few things out, she'll kill a lot of White Walkers."

Davos gave him an all-too-understanding look. "And if she can't work those few things out?"

Gendry's chest clenched. "Then she stays alive a little bit longer."

Pure sympathy flooded Davos's face at whatever he saw in Gendry's. "I told you not to get yourself hurt."

Gendry shrugged, throat tight. "I couldn't help it." His voice was rough. "I love her."

Davos squeezed his shoulder. "The best and worst thing that can happen to a man."

000

Later, Arya appeared. Her expression was so grim he knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. "So it worked, then."

She nodded. "I can show you later, if you need me to, but you already know—"

"—what the face looks like," Gendry finished, shaking his head. "I don't need to see it."

A little bit of the tension eased out of her muscles as she squeezed his hand. "Now all that's left to do is wait."

He kissed her hand. "And worry."

Her lips ghosted upward, even though her eyes were still grim. "That, too."


	4. Chapter 4

Properly taken, a face worn by one of the Faceless contained memories of the person the face had originally belonged to. They were quiet, like echoes, but if you kept your own thoughts silent enough to hear them they could be useful. The memories could give you names, information, and occasionally even languages or skills that could be useful.

Wights had no memories of the lives they’d lived before they died, but the Many-Faced God allowed some of the wight to remain inside the face anyway. She’d understood that the noises the test wights had made at her was a recognition request, and they’d accepted it when she’d identified herself with a similar sound. There was a chance she would feel the compulsion of the White Walkers, not enough for it to take her over but strong she’d know to mask her movements. Mostly, however, all she could feel from the wight was cold and the unending desire for destruction.

And somehow, all of that was easier to think about than Jon’s horrified look when he’d seen her wearing the wight’s face.

She peeled it off, pushing the hurt underneath the anger. The entrance to the family crypts had been locked – no one wanted to give the White Walkers more recruits for their wight army – so they’d taken refuge in an unoccupied room. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, not quite meeting his eyes. “You’re the one who wouldn’t simply _believe_ me when I told you it passed all my tests, insisting that you see it for yourself.  If you have nightmares tonight, it’s not my responsibility.”

The horror faded enough to let guilt flood in alongside it, an uneasy combination that made Arya’s stomach twist. It had been hardest for Jon, dealing with this part of her – Sansa seemed to accept that sometimes dark things were required, and Bran was surprised by nothing these days. For Jon, however, there was still too much of him who saw her as a little girl playing with swords and bows to be at peace with who she’d become since then. He didn’t mind that she was a warrior, out fighting with the men. It was the shadows that were too much for him.

Gendry had seen her shadows almost from the very beginning – he’d been next to her too many times as she recited her list not to understand – and had simply accepted it. Sometimes he’d called her an idiot for not doing things the easy way, but it had never seemed to shock him. It had always just been a part of who she was.

_You’re not a weapon. Even if you believe it, I never will._

Finally, Jon let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, hands half-lifting as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “But I’ve faced wights head-on, seen them far more closely than I ever wanted to, and I hoped that if I saw it I could—”

“Prove me wrong?” she finished, trying hard to shake away the sadness as she tucked the face back into her pocket. “Have the proof you need to keep me with the rest of the men, or back here defending Winterfell?”

Jon winced, caught. “Yes.” He scrubbed his hands across his face, looking both exhausted and young. “You can’t really want to do this, Arya. It’s _suicide_.”

She gave him an arch look, not nearly as sympathetic as she probably should have been. “And what you’re doing isn’t? Given everything I’ve heard about the Walkers, leading an army against them will leave you just as dead as an assassination attempt. We’re only going about it a different way.”

“Do you think I _want_ to do this?” Jon shot back, anguished.  “If there were _anyone_ else willing, I would take everyone I care for and run south as fast as I could!”

It was a terrible lie for anyone who knew him at all, and a burst of frustrated love welled up inside her. “No you wouldn’t,” she said quietly. “These are your people to protect, and you’ll die doing it. It’s who you are.” She stretched upward, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “It’s just your cursed luck that it’s who I am, too.”

He pulled her into a fierce hug. “This is the first time I’ve ever wished you were one of those girls who loved sewing and pretty dresses.”

She hugged him back, hard. “If wishes did any good, we’d all have very different lives.”

When she slipped back into the corridor, she found Sansa waiting for her. “How did it go?” she asked quietly, falling into step beside Arya.

Arya rubbed a hand over her chest, as if that would do anything at all to ease her heart. “He’s not happy.”

Sansa’s expression was wry. “None of us are _happy_.” Then it turned solemn. “But war isn’t a time for happiness.”

Arya let out a breath, remembering how it had felt when Gendry had said yes. “I proposed to Gendry,” she blurted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “If we survive this, we’re getting married.”

It took a few steps to realize that Sansa had stopped moving. Arya did as well, turning around to find Sansa staring at her in astonishment. “You’re serious.”

Arya nodded, wishing she had some idea of what lay behind her sister’s surprise. “I know that I’m still technically a highborn, despite everything, and that I should save myself for a political alliance, but—”

Sansa looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Don’t be absurd. Anyone with sense already knew that was never going to happen.” She gathered her sister close in a hug as tight as Jon’s had been. “I’ve had horrible luck with weddings myself, so I _insist_ that you stay alive long enough to let me come to yours.” Sansa’s voice was thick. “ _Someone_ needs to be there to argue with you about dresses.”

Arya returned the hug, throat tight. The fact that they were closer now than they could have imagined being as children had been an unexpected gift in all this. “Actually, I was planning on wearing armor.”

When Sansa pulled back, her lips had curved upward even though there were tears in her eyes. “You live to torment me.” She smoothed her hands along Arya’s cheeks, a bittersweet look overwhelming the humor. “Bran wants to see you.”

Arya swallowed, remembering the too-serious little boy who had so loved to explain things. She knew she needed to let that go – they were all different, as she'd just explained to Jon – but it was hard when she could see so little of anything she might call Bran in the Three-Eyed-Raven. "At least he's not going to try and yell at me."

"At least." Sansa pressed a kiss against her forehead. "He's outside, by his tree."

Bran was indeed by his tree, head tilted back and eyes focused on something Arya couldn't see. "The White Walkers are two days march away," he said in his eternally calm voice, blinking and turning to focus on Arya. "You're not ready yet."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she countered, voice just as calm. The part of her that had been trained by the Faceless Men understood the Three-Eyed-Raven best, both of them familiar with giving themselves over to something greater.

"Not without a dragonglass knife." He leaned forward, more present and intent than she'd ever see him. "He was made with dragonglass, and can only be unmade with dragonglass. It needs to be inside him for Valyrian steel to have any effect."

Arya nodded, giving the words the respect his sudden focus deserved. "I'll make sure I'm carrying one."

Bran nodded, expression already going distant again as he settled back into his chair. Arya stood there a moment, waiting to see if he'd say anything else, but he simply turned his gaze back to the sky.

Her chest clenched, wondering if she should tell him goodbye. Would he even notice? As far as any of them could tell Bran couldn't see the future, but he'd seemed completely unconcerned about her plan.

Quietly, she turned and headed back toward the castle. She should find—

"What do we say to the God of Death?"

Arya whirled around at the sound of Bran's voice. He was still staring upward at something she couldn't see, but there was no way the question hadn't been directed at her. She swallowed. "Not today."

He smiled a little, still not looking at her. "Your teacher was a smart man."

He fell silent again as Arya stared at him, chest tight for a completely different reason now. Then, thinking of Syrio, she turned and went to find Gendry.

He was in the courtyard, leading the training session he'd offered to take over when Jon had insisted on his impromptu meeting. She stayed where she was a moment, allowing herself the simple pleasure of watching him move.

Soon, she felt Davos move to stand next to her. "Shall I get you a cloth to wipe the drool up with?"

Her lips curved upward. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm the portrait of restraint."

"I _knew_ that word had to mean something different in the North." Then his voice softened, the humor disappearing from it. "Try not to die, would you?"

Surprised, she turned to look at him. After a beat, he met her eyes with a rueful look. "I'm not holding you to a promise or anything. I know Jon too well to think that would work." He sighed. "But you've got some very important hearts in your hands, and I'd like them not broken if at all possible."

Arya's throat tightened. "I'll try."

Davos's lips quirked. "Plus, I'm oddly fond of you. If I somehow manage to survive all this, I would very much like to see your children."

Arya swallowed, nodding. Davos nodded back, understanding in his eyes, and they both turned to watch Gendry together.


	5. Chapter 5

The news came from Arya's brother Bran – the Walkers would be here a little after dawn, the Night King leading the way on the back of his dragon wight. A few people stole what sleep they could the day before – night would be for final preparations - but there were plenty who gave up on sleep entirely. According to Davos, that wasn't uncommon the night before a battle.

The only battle Gendry had ever been a part of was the run-in up north with the wights, and even then he hadn't been there for all of it. Yet here he was in the command tent, listening to Jon, the Dragon Queen, and others outline a plan that essentially boiled down to "hold the line, try not to die." The only question he was actually asked was how many dragonglass arrowheads they had – his idea, for the record – but the taller Lannister brother was the only one who questioned his presence.

At one point in his life, he would have given his right arm for even that kind of acceptance. Right now, though, his attention was all on Arya. She was watching the pieces of wood that symbolized the White Walkers like they held the secrets of the the gods, and Gendry knew she was picturing the morning. She always got a distant look on her face when she was planning something, like she could see it all in her head before it happened.

For his part, Gendry was damn grateful he couldn't. He wasn't scared – there was no point in being scared when you had to do whatever it was anyway – but knowing the details wouldn't make the weight in his stomach any less. He'd take it as it came, and do everything he could to help keep them both alive.

After most of the others had left, Arya stepped forward and touched a spot fairly close to the center of their line. "Gendry and I will be here," she said quietly, looking at the Dragon Queen briefly before focusing on Jon. "On foot. His hammer and my knife are both more effective on the ground."

Jon studied the spot, frowning. "It would be better if you were here," he said, pointing closer to the spot where he would be.

Arya shook her head. "You'll draw attention. That's the last thing we want."

The Dragon Queen moved forward, studying the spot. "I can't promise you where he'll fall," she said finally, the confidence in her voice leaving no question that the Night King _would_ fall. "I'll try to do it as quickly as possible, but Viserion is no longer the dragon I raised. I can't predict how he'll move."

Arya tilted her head in acknowledgement. "If you manage to knock him off, rest assured I'll go wherever he falls."

Jon looked over at Gendry, his expression troubled. "And you'll only go with her to the line?"

Gendry was torn between understanding – worry could make a man say any number of things – and offense that his own loyalty was being questioned. "Any further and all I'll do is draw attention to her." His voice was sharper than it should have been, a sign that he'd been spending too long with Arya. He'd started thinking of the highborn as normal people. "Let her do her job, Snow."

Jon nodded, as if Gendry had said something sensible. "Fair enough." He bowed his head at his sister. "Forgive me."

"It's forgiven." Arya gave him a small smile, threading her fingers through Gendry's. "You can't help it."

She tugged them both toward the exit, lips pressing together the moment they crossed the door of the tent. "You could have yelled at him," she said, sounding as if she'd considered it herself. "He's worried about me, but that doesn't mean he has the right to question you like that."

His chest warmed. Arya had never been very good at remembering his proper place, either. "I said enough." He squeezed her hand. “I would think you’d be more annoyed for yourself. It’s your plan he’s doubting.”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t mean to. There’s just a part of him who will always see me as the little girl he lost all those years ago.” She glanced over at him, amusement briefly lighting her face. “I’m grateful you don’t have the same problem.”

Gendry’s lips quirked upward, letting himself pretend for just a moment that tomorrow would be like any other day. “Actually, I’m grateful on several levels that you got older. Not much taller, of course, but I can probably figure out woodworking well enough to make you some step-stools.”

She made a mock offended noise, pushing his chest, and didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms. Instead, she sighed and put her own arms around him. “Actually, I was hoping you’d make me a sword,” she said quietly, laying her head against his chest. “Jon’s right about one thing – I need something bigger than Needle.”

His chest tightened as he rested his chin against her hair. He’d love to be able to make her a sword, something as strong and beautiful as she was. A little piece of him that she would carry with her everywhere. “It wouldn’t be Valyrian steel.”

“Neither is Needle.” She tightened her arms around him. “What matters is that they both remind me of someone I love very much.”

Gendry closed his eyes, feeling the words all through his body. “You hadn’t said that before.”

She pressed her lips against his shirt. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Still nice to hear it.” He pressed his lips against her hair. “I love you too, by the way.”

He felt her eyes close. “I know you do.”

They stood there like that, holding each other, for a long time.

000

Eventually, however, time ran out.

They marched out with the rest of the men, a line stretched out as a human shield in front of Winterfell. More men were inside, ready for the wights and White Walkers that inevitably went around them. The Dragon Queen and her dragons were flying overhead, watching for the approach of the Night King’s armies.

Arya was next to him, still wearing her own face along with the ragged, carefully layered clothing of the wight’s costume. One hand was in a pocket, touching the wight face she’d hurriedly pull on, and the other held the dagger half hidden in one sleeve. Gendry was standing slightly in front of Arya, prepared to play human shield for her alone if need be.

Jon turned his horse to address everyone, the snow falling lightly all around them. “Today we’re not fighting for houses, or even kingdoms,” he called out. “We’re fighting for _humanity_. We’re the last real line of defense between here and King’s Landing, which means that if we fall then all of those people do as well.” He paused. “Will we fall?”

A shout from the men. “No!”

“What will we do?”

Another shout. “Hold the line!”

“The Long Winter ends here!”

“The Long Winter ends here!”

The sound echoed back and forth along the line, broken only by the roar of one of the dragons overhead. Gendry looked over at Arya one last time, fixing her face in his memory, and she met his eyes long enough that he imagined her doing the same thing. She’d make sure she was the last thing he saw, even if he had to close his eyes to do it.

They turned back at a call from another dragon, this time too far ahead to be one of theirs. With it came the sounds of an army marching, loud enough they seemed to echo, and as they came into view Gendry heard gasps from some of the men around him. The wights and White Walkers stretched out in front of them like the sea, huge and endless. Gendry went cold all the way through, and from the gasps around him he imagined the other men were having similar reactions.

“Hold the line!” Jon called out.

As if that had been a signal, the Night King surged forward on his wight dragon. The Dragon Queen surged forward to meet him, the third dragon cutting a swath of flame through the wights, and Gendry had a split second to process yet _another_ way Arya could die.

Then the wights charged.

They came in a great, swelling wave of the undead, crashing against their shields with all the force in their desiccated bodies. Gendry, just behind the shields, swung his hammer at any of the bodies that burst through. There was a rhythm to it, same as a hammer on an anvil, and it was familiar enough to let him find his footing in the chaos around him.

He felt Arya move further behind him, and he swung around to give her even more coverage. Then there was a hit on his lower back, fairly gentle and surprisingly cold even through the leather, and a sudden sense of absence too massive to be entirely real. By the time he turned around, there was no sign of her.

So he went back to fighting. He brought the hammer down, smashing it into a wight’s face, more determined than ever to hold the line. He needed to stay where he was, so she’d know where to find him when she made it back.

If she didn’t, he’d smash as many wights as he could before he went to join her.


	6. Chapter 6

Arya slipped underneath the surface of the wights' memories, just enough to let the chill slip over her. It was easier to think, when you didn't have to worry about feeling things, and the dead didn't feel anything at all.

The initial wave of attackers seemed to be all wights, fodder to break the humans down without having to risk themselves. Arya wove through them, familiar enough to their limited awareness that no one seemed to process that she was going the wrong direction. It helped that she never stayed moving the same way for very long, slipping through a war almost as easily as she'd once slipped through crowds of people. All three of her knives – the Valyrian dagger, as well as two dragonglass daggers – were hidden underneath her ragged coat. Gendry had tried to insist she take his portion of the dragonglass daggers, but she’d refused to lessen his chance of staying alive in order to increase her own.

She sensed the first White Walker before she saw him, a buzz in her head that felt like power trying to press itself inside her skull. There was no risk of that, but the sensation allowed her to sneak around behind the Walker without needing to actually look at him. Speed would be the key here, and aim – their armor was metal over leather, and if she accidentally hit metal she’d lose her chance.

Arya came around, surging forward at the same speed as the wights around her. Her hand moved back slightly, not close enough to expose the Valyrian dagger at her side but enough that she could grab it when she needed to. Closer, closer….

She moved with a snap, whipping the knife out and burying it in the leather at the White Walkers back. It dissolved into snow almost instantly, but the far bigger problem was the circle of wights around him that immediately fell as well. Arya slowed down immediately, merging with the surge of wights behind her, and moved ahead as if nothing had happened.

Then she moved again, following the buzz in the wight’s memories as she hunted. She could hear the dragons overhead, see the flashes of blue and gold fire arcing through the sky, but she couldn’t worry about that. Until the Night King fell, all her focus had to remain on the ground.

So she continued weaving through the wight army, killing every White Walker who ventured close enough to die by her hand. She anticipated the fall of their wights more quickly than she had before, making sure she was never caught in the sudden empty space, but she knew she was only killing the vanguards. She could feel the bulk of the walkers still standing together in the distance, too far away for her to touch, and sent a silent prayer up to the Many-Faced God that he would grant _someone_ the power to end them.

Thankfully, enough White Walkers ventured forward with their Wights that she had plenty to kill. As the bodies fell she could start to feel the other wights’ awareness pressing in on her, their dull awareness finally comprehending that something was off with one of their dead brethren. The White Walkers were starting to notice as well, more of them heading in her direction specifically as if they were trying to determine what was wrong. No one had discovered her yet, but even beneath the chill of the White Walkers memories she knew her time was running out.

Suddenly, an immense roar cut through the sky, and the buzz in her head turned into a command to move. Arya looked up just in time to see a small figure falling through the sky, the wight dragon flying off in the opposite direction rather than trying to catch the falling Night King. She didn’t know what happened, but she could see the Daenerys’s two dragons following and trusted they would take care of it.

She hurried to where the Night King’s command guided the wights, moving with the crowd she suspected was meant to serve as something between a shield and an honor guard. Using the crush of wights as a cover, she slipped one of the dragonglass daggers out from underneath her coat and tucked it into her sleeve. It was a slower death than Valyrian steel, she’d been told, but Bran had said there was no way the Night King could be killed without it. She couldn’t waste her shot, especially knowing she might not get a second.

She followed them to where the Night King fell, struggling to his feet in an empty circle of snow surrounded by a solid wall of wights. They were pressed as closely as they could go, no chance to sneak between them, and as Arya felt the other wights press in behind her she realized there would be no chance at secrecy. If she waited until he was on his feet again, until he called the dragon back to his side, there would be no chance at all.

Not letting herself think, she grabbed the back of the large, fairly solid-looking wight standing in front of her and hauled herself upward using the other wights to help her climb. Then, before any of them could process what was happening enough to fight her, she scrambled forward along the tight press of their backs and shoulders, took a flying leap onto the Night King’s back, and buried the dragonglass dagger as deeply into the back of his neck as it would go.

He made an inhuman sound as he grabbed for her, flinging her forward and off his back and sending her crashing into the wall of wights in front of him. She bounced off them, landing on the ice, as the Night King tried desperately to pull the knife out of his neck. But it wouldn’t move, even when he got a firm grip, and frost flickered in and out over his body like it kept melting and re-forming.

One more hit, this time with Valyrian steel, and it would be done.

Arya reached for her dagger, ready to take one last leap at the Night King. This time, however, her fingers closed over empty air, and she realized that the spot of red and gold on the ground behind the Night King was her dagger. It must have fallen out as she’d been thrown, which meant that unless she could get to it she only had her second dragonglass dagger to go after the Night King with. Bran had said Valyrian steel would be needed to kill him, so the most it would do was distract him while she went for her other blade. If it didn’t work, or if any one of a thousand other things went wrong, she’d be dead long before her hand closed around its hilt.

And she’d be leaving the people she loved alone for _nothing_.

_What do we say to the God of Death?_

All this flashed through her mind in an instant. By the next one, she’d taken advantage of the wight hands that had finally started to reach for her by using them as handholds to start climbing up and over their bodies. She heard the Night King make another inhuman sound, and the wights under her feet suddenly all moved sideways. She fell, the ground rumbling, but it never cracked and split like she expected it to. Taking advantage of the sudden free space and unexpectedly steady ground, she ran.

She hadn’t gotten very far before the wights started coming after her, all of them just a little bit slower than they had been before. She could practically _feel_ awareness spread among the other wights, communicating to one another that she was a target, but the idea of self was a hard enough thing for them to grasp that the wights had trouble picking out who she was. Arya just focused on running, ducking, diving and occasionally crashing through them as she ran towards the human side of the battle line. Gendry was there. She had to get to Gendry.

She heard another roar from above her, the only warning as the wights in front of her erupted into yellow flame. She doubled back and went another way, breaking off a burning wight’s arm and using it to set another on fire when it tried to get in her way. She could already feel exhaustion start to take her, the cold creeping in past her rags and the magic that kept her hidden, but it didn’t slow her down.

Suddenly a White Walker stepped in front of her, ice sword raised to cut her down. She slid down and past his legs, grabbing her last dragonglass dagger and stabbing it deep into his leather-covered leg. She didn’t stay to see him shatter, knocking a wight off his feet as she rolled back to hers.

As she got to her feet she felt a bloom of hot pain along her side, a lucky swipe from the sword the wight had been holding, and when she pressed her hand against it she felt a wetness that had nothing to do with the ice or snow.

There was only so much the Many-Faced God’s magic could hide, and the dead didn’t bleed.

The wights attention all snapped to her, bloodhounds finally catching the scent of their prey. All Arya could do was run, ripping the wight’s face off with her free hand and letting it fall as she poured every ounce of energy she had into making it to the human’s side of the battle line. It wouldn’t be Gendry – she’d let herself get pushed too far away from him, to the wrong part of the line completely – but if she was wearing her real face she might have a chance. She was close, so close….

An ice-cold hand yanked her backwards, turning her around to see a White Walker glaring down at her. She struggled, trying to yank herself free, when the Walker’s other hand wrapped around her neck and lifted her into the air. She felt a sharp pain in her neck as the cold sank in, frostbite already starting to form, and for a second Arya was certain she was about to face her death.

But the ice didn’t spread, no matter how hard the White Walker glared at her, and she started kicking at the Walker in a desperate effort to get him to drop her. Instead he slammed her onto the ground, hand tightening around her neck, and though she kept struggling her lungs burned from lack of air. She felt the darkness close in around her, no amount of skill or talent able to save her from this.

_I’m sorry, Gendry…._

Suddenly, the White Walker’s eyes widened in shock, arching backwards as his body started to freeze completely. Then it shattered, as if someone had smashed it before it finished freezing.

As the hand around her neck fell into rubble, she sucked in a lungful of ice-cold air and looked up with shock into the eyes of the only man she would ever love. “Gendry?”


	7. Chapter 7

The fighting had seemed endless. Every time Gendry smashed a wight down three more surged in to take its place, all of them completely focused on destroying every living thing in their path. He went for the heads first, then the legs – it didn’t kill them, but they did less damage as crawling torsos – then moved onto the next one. There was no winning, no losing. Just surviving long enough for Arya to come back.

Then all the wights froze. It wasn’t for very long, all of them jerking back into action like they were trying to make up for the time they lost, but Gendry knew Arya had to have done something. The two living dragons had come back, setting fire to the wights in great sweeping arcs, and it was easier to catch them now than it had been before. They were all just a little slower, their movements just a little more sluggish, and Gendry could practically see their side rise up with a surge of hope as they started plowing through the wights more quickly.

Except... there were fewer wights to plow through. It wasn’t long before Gendry realized that some of the wights had started moving _away_ from the humans, heading off in the same vague direction as if they were looking for something.

Or someone.

Denial rose up inside him like a fire, and he charged forward in the same direction the wights were moving. When they started moving in a more focused way he hurried faster, knocking wights out of the way when they slowed him down. A few turned around, trying to attack him, but most kept struggling forward without ever changing course. The command to go after Arya was that strong.

They also weren’t the only ones who were hunting her. He saw the White Walker towering over the heads of the wights only a second before it lifted Arya up by the neck, her wight mask gone and no weapons in her hands. She was struggling, clawing and kicking as hard as she could, but it was clear she was running out of air fast.

 _Then_ came the terror, cold enough to stop a heart, but somehow this time it only added more fuel to the fire inside him. Grabbing one of the dragonglass daggers in his belt, he shoved his way through the rest of the wights and slammed it into the White Walker’s back. The Walker jerked, starting to freeze, but the hand around Arya’s neck hadn’t moved and the damn thing was dying too slowly.

So he swung his hammer directly into the Walker’s back, smashing it completely, and as the pieces fell the wights around them collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. Arya dropped to the ground as well, and as he stepped forward there was a split second where Gendry was terrified he’d been too late.

Then she sucked in a breath, looking up at him like she couldn’t believe he was there, and his heart started beating again. “Gendry?”

The sound of her voice, a wrecked-sounding rasp, made him want to cry a little. The handprint-shaped bruise on her neck was touched with the black of frostbite, and Gendry kind of wanted to bring the Walker back just so he could kill him again. “I _told_ you to take some of my dragonglass daggers,” he managed, the closest to “I love you” they had time for at the moment, and pulled her to her feet. When she swayed he laid his free hand against her side to steady her, scared all over again when he touched the still-warm wetness of blood. “Arya....”

“I can walk.” She squeezed his hand, her eyes telling him to trust her. “You need both hands free to get us home.”

He had no argument against that, especially since the wights were still coming for Arya. So he smashed them both a path back to Winterfell, Arya pressed up close behind him with one hand firmly holding onto his leather armor. Whenever he felt a tug from her, he’d turn them both around and take out the wights that were getting too close, then turn around and continue pushing their way forward. He knew he wasn’t moving as fast as he should be, that Arya was no doubt struggling to stay standing, but he trusted her to hold on for him as long as she possibly could.

As they crossed back over the battle line, other soldiers from their side hurried forward to help fight their pursuers off. Before they could, however, most of the wights abruptly collapsed into useless heaps. The wights that were still standing stood as frozen as they’d been before, and as a ragged cheer went up everyone turned to see the rest of the battlefield in a similar state.

“What’s happening?” Arya asked, face still pressed against his back.

Gendry stared out over the suddenly empty battlefield, hope rising up in him. They might actually _live_ through this. “Looks like Snow finished the job you started on the Night King.” He saw one of the dragons arc over a spot past where the fighting had been, covering the figures standing there in flames. The screams that reached them from there sounded distinctly inhuman, which he guessed meant the White Walkers were no longer as immune to dragon flame as they had been. As if that alone had been enough to warm the sky, the snow stopped falling as the second dragon swooped around for its own pass. “And the Dragon Queen’s cleaning up the rest of the White Walkers.”

“Good.” Arya let out a ragged breath. “Because I’m pretty sure I can’t stand up anymore.”

Gendry cursed in sudden surprise, any attention on the battlefield immediately abandoned as he whipped around. Dropping his hammer, he caught her before she fell. “Why in the hells didn’t you say something?” he asked, hauling her up into his arms.

“I just did.” The way she clung to him betrayed the sass in her words, making his chest freeze up. “And don’t leave your hammer. We still have Cersei to fight.”

“Shut it.” He was already running for the gates of Winterfell, moving with everything he had left in him. “We’ll worry about Cersei when you’re not bleeding to death.”

He hadn’t made it very far before she lost consciousness, the feel of her grip on him loosening almost enough to stop his heart. As he got closer he heard someone who sounded like Davos shout to open the damn gates, and as they lifted he ran through without slowing down. Everyone with any kind of medical training were all in the Great Hall, filled with rows of the injured and healing, and as he burst through the doors one of the wood witches ran to meet him. “Arya Stark,” he explained hurriedly, not at all above using her rank to get her faster medical attention. “Sword wound in her side, and a White Walker tried to choke her to death.”

Suddenly another man was running up to meet them, and it took Gendry a second to recognize Snow’s friend Samwell Tarly. “I’ve got her,” he told the wood witch. “But I’ll need more Milk of Poppy and some warm water.” As she hurried off, Sam gestured to an empty spot among the rows of patients. “If you could set her down here, please?”

Gendry laid her down, careful as he could, as Sam started cutting away the layers of fabric with a dagger to reveal the wound at her side. “Jon told me he was worried she’d be in the worst of it,” he murmured, lightly touching her neck before giving Gendry an understanding look. “You might not want to be here for this next part,” he said kindly.

As if she’d heard, Arya stirred just long enough to grab for him. “No,” she managed, clearly only half conscious. “Don’t go.”

His chest constricted as he squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hold her then, please,” Sam said, taking the water someone brought him and washing along the wound. “Because this is going to hurt.”

Gendry moved around so he could lay Arya’s head on his lap, hands on her shoulders to keep her from struggling while Sam worked. She mostly didn’t, holding her body as a tight line of tension while Sam worked, and Gendry just held her and tried not to think about how someone could get so used to pain. Even after Sam administered Milk of the Poppy, she didn’t relax in the slightest.

Sansa ran in at one point, radiating the kind of fear that made her look far more like a worried older sister than she did Lady of Winterfell. She came closer, eyes widening as she focused on the bruises ringing Arya’s neck. “One of the White Walkers?” she asked, looking at Gendry in horror.

He nodded. “Caught her without any of her daggers. Didn’t like whatever she did to the Night King.”

Sansa looked pained as Sam spoke without looking up. “We all wondered what had happened. Now we know who to thank for it.” He smiled down at Arya. “A fighter, just like her brother. She’ll get through this.”

They both stayed as Sam finished closing the wound, then wrapped Arya’s neck with a cloth soaked in warm water. “It’ll get cold, fast, so change it when it does. I’ll leave the bucket here, and when it gets cold have someone put it near the fire for you.” He touched her hand, looking concerned. “The Milk should have taken effect by now. I’ll get her a second dose.”

Arya started struggling again, as if in protest, and Gendry caught her arm before she could accidentally smack Sam. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “We won’t let him give you any more. But you need to sleep.”

She stopped struggling instantly, eyes flickering open. They were fogged by the Milk of Poppy, but she still refused to let it pull her under. “You’re still here.”

Gendry’s eyes stung, chest tightening with a rush of relief and love. “Told you I would be.” He stroked a hand over her hair. “Your sister is, too.”

Arya turned her head toward her sister as she knelt by her side. “You’re still alive,” she murmured, clearly pleased despite the fact she was barely conscious. “Good job.”

With a smile at Gendry, Sam moved onto his next patient as Sansa’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her sister’s forehead. “Same to you.” Her voice was thick. “Now stop being so stubborn and go to sleep. You need your rest.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” Arya murmured back, her eyes falling almost all the way closed. Then they suddenly shot open again, looking up at Gendry with more alertness than they’d held since she’d told him she couldn’t stand up anymore. “You’ll stay?”

Gendry swallowed, still stroking her hair. “Couldn’t chase me out.”

She let out a breath of what sounded like relief, going almost boneless, and was asleep an instant later. Sansa sat back on her heels, swiping her fingers across her eyes as she visibly collected herself. “Sadly, there’s too much to do for me to be able to stay,” she told him, getting to her feet. “I’ll have someone bring you food.”

He hadn’t even thought about eating before this. “Thank you.”

She gave him a rueful look. “It’s a poor compensation for the gift you’ve given my family.” Her expression turned intense at the surprise she could see on his face. “We wouldn’t have opposed the marriage, if for no other reason than we would have lost Arya if we tried. But no matter what wonders she performed on the battlefield, don’t think I don’t know you’re the reason she’s here with us now.”

Gendry just looked at her, at a loss about what to say. He hadn’t been doing it for them. “I told her I’d get her home.”

Sansa blinked hard at that. “And so you did.” She swiped her fingers across her eyes again, then took a deep breath and transformed into the Lady of Winterfell in front of his eyes. “I can’t say whether you’ll ever be a Baratheon, Gendry Waters, but know that you will forever be a brother to House Stark. Even if it’s not for Arya’s sake, know that you may call upon our house for whatever aid you need. We will answer you.”

Then she left, every inch a highborn. Gendry watched her go, then looked down at Arya. His throat tightened as it finally sank in that all those impossible dreams they’d whispered to each other in the dark were actually going to get the chance to come true. He was holding the rest of his life.

Blinking back tears, he leaned back against the wall and waited for her to wake up.


	8. Chapter 8

Arya had trained herself to fall asleep under the worst possible conditions, a survival skill that made sure she got at least a little bit of rest no matter where she was. Freezing temperatures, water, physical pain, loud noises, the constant threat of death… she’d managed it all without flinching. She’d even slept in Walter Frey’s empty bed after his death, during the days it had taken her to set up the banquet.

Lately, though, her body had learned what it was like to fall asleep under the _best_ conditions. The softest bed and the warmest blanket were nothing compared to being pressed up against Gendry, wrapped up in his arms, and it was all too easy to get greedy for it. She could feel him now, in the warmth on her cheek and the deep, even sound of his breathing, but enough of her was cold that one of them must have shifted in the middle of the night. All she had to do was fix it, and then she’d be able to go back to sleep.

She stretched an arm out, reaching for him, and the ache she’d been ignoring flared into a bright, sharp pain in her side. Memory came back, all in a rush, and she opened her eyes to see the rafters of the Great Hall. Her head was in Gendry’s lap, one of his warm hands lightly resting on her bruised, damaged neck, and if she tilted her head back just a little she could see his face. He’d fallen asleep, leather armor in a pile next to them like he hadn’t wanted to leave her long enough to even put it away someplace. He’d waited for her while she’d gone to face the Night King, saved her when she hadn’t quite managed to make it back to his side, and stayed by her while she came back to herself.

He’d said he wasn’t going to leave her again, and it seemed he was bound and determined to keep his promise.

Her chest tightened with a rush of love so strong it made her lose her breath for a moment. Slowly, carefully, she tried to push herself up into a sitting position, her body protesting every inch of the way. She still felt weak, probably from the blood loss, but if she went about this gently then maybe she could shift around—

Arya felt it the moment Gendry jerked awake, turning just in time to see him blink the disorientation out of his eyes. “Arya?” His face absolutely lit for a moment before exasperation rushed into join it. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?” he asked, closing the distance between them as he reached out for her. “Because wherever it is, you’re going to bloody well get carried there.”

She grinned, happiness burning inside her like fire. She was going to get the chance to spend _decades_ with this wonderful, stubborn man. “No need.” She started pulling him closer. “I’ll just have there come to me.”

The positioning was awkward, but any pain or discomfort was immediately forgotten as her lips finally found Gendry’s. The kiss was a celebration, free of the deadline they’d felt hanging over their heads since the first time they’d touched like this, and for a little while it was enough to chase every shred of pain out of her body. His arms tightened around her, steady and sure but still utterly gentle, and Arya held onto him as if she never wanted to let go.

When they broke apart, Arya’s throat went tight as she smoothed her hand along Gendry’s cheek. He’d cleaned them both up as best he could at some point while she was still asleep, and it made her chest hurt when she thought about how much of her blood he’d had to clean off of her hands. “I’m sorry I almost died on you,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. “Just don’t do it again,” he whispered back.

She swallowed, wishing she could promise him. She valued her life far more than she ever did, but if time had taught her anything it was that people could be taken away at any moment. “You’re still going to marry me, right?”

Gendry opened his eyes, brow furrowing at the hesitancy he could hear in her voice. He pulled back just a little, studying her face with a look that suggested she’d lost her mind. “Have you somehow missed the fact that you’re stuck with me forever?” he asked finally. “Your sister even said they won’t kick you out of the family for marrying me, which means your last chance to gracefully get rid of me is officially gone.”

Relief and delight chased away the last lingering bit of shadow inside her as she pulled him down for another kiss. “All part of my cunning plan.”

When they broke apart this time, Gendry helped her carefully peel off the outer layers of her wight costume that hadn’t already been cut away. Then they settled back against the wall, Arya leaning back against Gendry’s chest with his legs braced alongside hers. “Sam said it’s okay for you to eat something,” he told her, handing her a chunk of brown bread he’d set aside. “If that goes down well enough, I saved you some soup, too.”

“You’re amazing.” Touched, she tucked her head in against the crook of his neck as she tore off a small chunk of bread.

“I try.” His arms settled around her, warm and strong. “There’s a chance someone will be by with more food any minute now. Jon, Sansa and Davos are all running around doing important leader-type things, but they keep checking in on us almost constantly. Bran hasn’t shown up yet, but he had Sam pass on a message saying you’ll have to find a hobby now.”

Arya swallowed a laugh at that. She’d been almost certain she remembered Sansa’s voice just before she’d finally let herself sleep, and it made sense that Jon had been the one to finish what she’d started with the Night King. Hearing their safety confirmed, however, along with other people she cared for, was a comfort. “Family’s like that,” she said easily, taking another bite of the bread. “You’ll get used to it.”

Gendry made a dismissive noise. “They may like me now, but they’re your family.”

She shifted so she could see his face without having to move away from him at all. He still looked skeptical, and she realized that he really didn’t have a clue. “First, you should be prepared for the fact that they’re going to be _your_ family when we get married, and we Starks tend to be possessive about that sort of thing,” she said gently, squeezing his hand. “Second, Davos may be fond of me, but _you’re_ the one he’s claimed as kin.”

The genuine surprise on his face made her chest tighten, but before either of them could say anything Gendry closed his mouth and gestured toward the entrance to the Great Hall. She turned just in time to see Jon hurry in, nearly as emotional as he’d been when they’d first been reunited. “You’re awake.” He went down on one knee beside them both, and Arya leaned forward enough to accept his hug. “You had us worried.”

She returned the hug, grateful. The wound in her side protested the movement, but the pain was irrelevant compared to everything else. “What can I say? I needed the sleep.” Then she leaned back against Gendry’s chest, pleased when his arm tightened around her. He should never question his place by her side. “Thank you for finishing off The Night King. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do it.”

He smiled at her. “If it was a choice between you striking the death blow or coming back to us, I’m happy you made the choice you did.” He reached down to his sword belt, pulling out what she belatedly realized was her Valyrian dagger and flipping it around to offer to her handle-first. “Speaking of which, I believe you lost this. I had the men leave Gendry’s hammer in the armory, but I wanted to deliver this to you in person.”

“I did.” She took the dagger, realizing it deserved a name after coming back to her like this. “How did you find it?”

Jon’s expression sobered. “The Night King was wearing it.” He took a deep breath. “I hoped you were who the wights were chasing, but when I saw your blade on his sword belt there was a moment when I was certain I’d lost my little sister.”

Arya reached out to squeeze his hand. “It wouldn’t have been by the Night King’s hand, but you have Gendry to thank for me being here now.”

Gendry tensed. “That’s not—”  

“It is.” Jon met Gendry’s eyes a moment before returning his attention to Arya. “Sansa’s already told me about your smith’s heroism, so there’s no need to champion him.” He smiled a little. “I’ve been suitably convinced of his worth.”

“Good.” She threaded her fingers through Gendry’s.

Jon sobered. “I have to leave for King’s Landing soon. Bran said he saw that Cersei was dead, and the city was burning.” He squeezed her free hand again, then straightened. “Dany and I are going down to see what we can do to help.”

Arya felt a stab of something dark and bitter deep inside her at the thought that she hadn’t been the one to kill Cersei, and she tried hard to push it deep out of view. The feeling eased when Gendry tightened his arm around her middle, pressing a kiss against her hair, and she reminded herself that she’d been needed here. No revenge would have been enough to compensate for letting the people she loved fight alone.

Thankfully, Jon missed the entire exchange, straightening before fixing Gendry with an intent look. “If things go the way Bran says they will, Dany and I will have to fill several vacancies among the noble houses in Westeros. We’d prefer to fill those positions with those we know we can trust.” He smiled a little. “If all goes well, Gendry Baratheon, we may end up being neighbors.”

She felt Gendry freeze, but Arya smiled at her brother as he turned and left the room. When he’d gone, she rubbed her free hand soothingly along Gendry’s arm. “I must love you, if I’m going to let you make me a lady,” she murmured, wondering why she didn’t feel even a shred of regret. The last thing she’d wanted was to be a proper lady.

But this was Gendry. There was no way she was going to let him do this alone.

He pressed his face against her hair, the rhythm of his breathing almost on the edge of panic. “I can’t be a _high lord_ ,” he muttered. “You have to _know_ things to be a high lord. You have to be in _charge of things_. I just wanted a bloody name.”

She shifted so she could look up at him again. “I know some of it, and if we can sweet-talk Davos away from Jon I’m sure he’ll help us with the rest.” She remembered Davos saying he wanted to see her and Gendry’s children, and thought it might be fairly easy to convince him. She didn’t have much personal experience with grandfathers, but she suspected Davos would probably make an excellent one. “What the two of us don’t know, Sansa or Jon will. You won’t get better training.”

He looked down at her, despairing. “I’ve been a _smith_ my whole life. I can’t lead people.”

Arya stretched up enough to press a kiss against his jaw. “The most important part of being a good high lord is being a good man. And you’re definitely that.” Her throat tightened. “I would be honored to be your lady.”

She thought about her father, telling her she would marry a high lord and rule his castle. It hadn’t happened how he’d imagined it, she was sure, but she wished she could somehow tell him that he’d been right. “I’m not going to wear dresses, though.”

“Why would I care if you wear a dress? I don’t give a shit what clothes you put on, as long as you let me be the one to take them off you at night.” He let out a ragged breath, voice thick with emotion. “You really would be my lady.”

Arya’s chest tightened. Gendry knew who she was and loved her anyway. She wouldn’t have to be a proper lady to be exactly what he needed. “And you’d be milord.”

He breathed out a laugh at that. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

She smiled. “We’ve got time.”

“Yes, we do.” He pressed a kiss against her hair. “Thank you for being my family.”

Arya’s eyes filled, utterly grateful that their paths had crossed all those years ago. “Thank you for being mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [original fiction,](https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks) my [blog,](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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